


you smile at me like you're dying to say

by restitched (beingothrwrldly)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:49:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingothrwrldly/pseuds/restitched
Summary: “Did Tocchet talk to you?” Clayton pushes up on his toes, eyes bright and big. “He said he'd talk to you.”“He's fuckingcrazyif he thinks this is a good idea,” Dylan says. He's already second guessing himself. Mentally cataloguing the stuff he'll need to bring to Tucson when he fucks this up.Clayton’s smile fades a little. “Don't doubt yourself already,” he says. “Get rid of that shit, wipe the slate clean. I think it'll be awesome, we’re gonna tear it up.”





	you smile at me like you're dying to say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [addandsubtract](https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/gifts).



> Thank you so much for your incredible prompts - I wanted to write something that incorporated everything you requested, but the fake boyfriends prompt settled itself in my head and wouldn't go away. I based this on a universe where Dylan gets a real shot with the Coyotes instead of being traded away, and he obviously shines like the star he is. I really hope you like this, I had so much fun writing it!!
> 
> Big thank you to A and J for reading this over to see if it was TOO crazy. Any remaining mistakes are my own, and the title is from You're In Love by Betty Who.

It’s a Thursday night in the middle of November when Brad gets hurt. 

Dylan is spending his third game in a row in the media box when it happens. Next to him, Jakob exhales sharply. “Shit,” he says, and Dylan's stomach clenches. “ _That_ didn't look good.”

The next day after practice, Tocchet calls Dylan to his office. 

Dylan isn't sure what this means. He's never been to Tocchet’s office before; anytime he's sent down to Tucson, it comes from a phone call. He doesn't think this is how they'll tell him he's been traded. Maybe he's being fired, he thinks, and then he realizes that's impossible and insane.

“We'd like to see more from you,” Tocchet tells him after he tells him they want him to take Brad’s spot on the top line with Clayton. “But you need to realize that this is a make or break opportunity for you.”

Cool, Dylan thinks. No pressure. 

“Okay,” Dylan says out loud, probably too quickly. “That sounds—I can handle it, thank you, I really appreciate the opportunity.” He shakes Tocchet's hand before he leaves, and he says again, “Thank you. Thanks.”

He leaves before he gets stuck in an endless loop of thank yous, and when he gets to the garage, Clayton is leaning against Dylan’s car, grinning. “Yo, get away from my car,” Dylan calls out, and he can't help but smile. 

Clayton laughs and steps away from the car. “I can't believe you don't have an alarm, I could've broken into your backseat and stabbed you on the drive home.”

Dylan makes a face. “Seriously, what is wrong with you,” he says. 

“Did Tocchet talk to you?” Clayton pushes up on his toes, eyes bright and big. “He said he'd talk to you.”

“He's fucking _crazy_ if he thinks this is a good idea,” Dylan says. He's already second guessing himself. Mentally cataloguing the stuff he'll need to bring to Tucson when he fucks this up.

Clayton’s smile fades a little. “Don't doubt yourself already,” he says. “Get rid of that shit, wipe the slate clean. I think it'll be awesome, we’re gonna tear it up.”

Dylan laughs a little. “Yeah, easy for you to say, you won't get sent down—”

“Cut it out, I'm serious,” Clayton says. “We can do this, come on.”

“He said it was make or break,” Dylan says. “If this doesn't work—”

Clayton rolls his eyes and takes a couple steps back, shaking his head. “Oh shit, we have a bad connection,” he says, shrugging. “I didn't hear what you just said.”

“Kells—”

“Ah, I can't hear you, I think the coverage is bad.” 

“I'm _standing_ here,” Dylan says, shaking his head. “We’re not on the phone, I'm just saying, what if—”

“Oh my god, I have the shittiest reception right now.” Clayton keeps walking backwards, and he glances over his shoulder towards his car before looking back at Dylan and smiling as bright as the sun. “I'll have to call you back when I have more bars and when you're not shit-talking yourself anymore. See you tomorrow! Bye!”

. . : : . .

“Like, how the fuck am I supposed to just go from sitting in the box every night to centering his line, that's fucking insane.” Dylan runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “He has like a thousand points. This is going to be a disaster.”

“This is an _opportunity_ ,” Connor says over Skype. “And he has like, thirty points.”

“I have _eleven_ ,” Dylan says. “Double digits are a fucking achievement, he’s gonna have a hundred by April.”

“I think it's badass,” Alex agrees. “And who cares about your points, you’d have thirty if you weren’t in the box every fucking night.”

“You think you can keep up with him?” Andre says, and if it had been anybody else, Dylan would be offended by the question. “I mean, he's quite quick, isn't he?”

“See, you get it,” Dylan mutters. “I can't keep up with him.”

Connor and Alex both groan, and Andre drops his forehead down onto his forearms and laughs. “Oh, Stromer,” Andre says, sighing. 

“They obviously see something in you, dumbass,” Alex says. “Stop doubting yourself so much.”

“You've gotta stop thinking about where you've been and focus on where you're going,” Connor says.

Andre lifts his head and makes a face at the screen. “Who even _are_ you, you sound like a fortune cookie.”

This makes Connor lean back in his seat, laughing, and Dylan watches him and he can't help but smile. “I just think he _deserves_ this, I think he needs to have faith in his abilities like we've all had for years.” He points at the camera, and Dylan figures it's meant for him. “The only person who doesn't believe in you is you, seriously. I think Keller’s a great fit for you, he's like a smaller Brinksy.”

“Hate to break it to you, bud, but he's a taller Brinksy,” Alex says miserably. “I can't believe I just admitted that.”

“Confirmed,” Dylan nods. He rests his chin in his hand. 

“ _Only you_ would know that for sure,” Alex says. 

“ _You_ know that for sure,” Dylan says. “That's not on me. I work with him, he's my coworker, obviously I know that for sure.”

Connor leans back in his seat, a hint of a smile on his lips, and Andre is laughing with his hand over his face. Alex leans closer to the camera, smirking, and Dylan feels uneasy. “I mean, _we_ know why you know that for sure,” Alex says, shrugging. 

“I mean, go fuck yourself,” Dylan says pleasantly. “I don't have a _crush_ on him, I'm not fourteen.” They've had this conversation before, about Clayton, and Dylan hates it every single time. Not because they're hassling him, but because he's definitely lying, and he's pretty sure they've figured it out even though they've never actually called him out.

Andre is still laughing. “Nooobody said you did, Stromer,” he says.

Connor laughs, too, and Dylan scowls at him. “We can table this discussion for when everybody starts talking about your chemistry on the ice,” he says. “ _Then_ we can talk about why.”

. . : : . .

When the pictures leak, it comes at the end of a good day.

They win a matinee game at home, six to two. Dylan’s been centering Clayton’s line for three and a half weeks, and he hasn’t been out of the lineup once; if things keep going the way they’re going, he thinks he might hit forty points before the new year.

He gets home before dinner and he's heating up leftover pizza while he gives Connor shit in their group text for only getting two points in his game while Dylan notched another four. He’s pushing his shoulders forward to focus on the ache in his muscles when the text pops up from Alex.

It's separate from their group text, and all it says is, _fyi just got this from like 4 diff ppl_. Dylan taps over to it and there’s a screenshot attached with three grainy photos.

Dylan looks at them for a long time before he really gets what he's looking at. 

“Oh, shit,” he says softly, frowning as he zooms in with two fingers. _not to be a perv but do u have a link to the pics? u sure it's kells?_ Dylan chews at his thumbnail, waiting for Alex to reply.

 _uh yah it's def kells_ , Alex sends back, with a link to fucking TMZ. Dylan wouldn't have thought TMZ would have any idea who any of them are, but if it's on TMZ then it's on TSN and Dylan thinks he needs to sit down. 

The pictures aren't explicit, and they're not even focused on Clayton, and honestly Dylan could've written it off as being somebody else if his face hadn't been turned towards the camera in the third picture, the flash catching him in the middle of a smile. It's definitely Clayton, at a college party or something, he's definitely making out with some guy, and Dylan definitely needs to sit down.

Lawson walks into the kitchen as Dylan sits down at the kitchen table, frowning at his own phone. He looks up at Dylan and then holds up his phone. “Did you see this?”

. . : : . .

Christian is leaning on the railing outside when Dylan gets to the house. “Yo,” he says, nodding at Dylan. His jaw is set and Dylan is almost afraid to go up the steps, but he does anyway.

“Is he here?” Dylan walks over and leans back against the railing, hands in the pockets of his sweats. 

“He's on the phone,” Christian says. He squints out towards the street. “With his folks, I think.” 

“Is he okay?”

“Dunno,” Christian says. “I'm sure he's not _great_.” Christian looks at him, his expression carefully blank. 

Dylan wants to punch something, and he curls both hands into fists in his pockets and breathes in deep through his nose. He focuses on the feel of his fingernails digging half-moons into his palms and tries not to scream. “Is it cool if I go in?” he asks.

“Better you than me,” Christian says. “He won't tell me who it is, probably because he knows I'd want to beat the shit out of them.”

“Well, if he tells me, I'll make sure you get the memo,” Dylan pushes away from the railing and claps Christian on the shoulder. “Because fucking same.”

Clayton’s door is closed, and Dylan pauses outside before he knocks. He holds his breath but after a minute, Clayton says, “Yeah?”

Dylan opens the door, and Clayton is sitting on the edge of his bed. When he looks up from his phone, his shoulders fall, and Dylan's heart breaks. “Oh, I thought you were Fish,” he says, and his voice breaks, and when he'd knocked Dylan felt like he could handle this but now he feels like he definitely can't handle this.

“No,” Dylan says, and he steps into the room. “Sorry to disappoint you.” Dylan walks over and sits down beside him. Clayton is turning his phone over in his hands and Dylan has to lace his own hands together to keep himself from pulling Clayton into a hug. “You'll be fine,” Dylan says softly, bumping his shoulder against Clayton’s shoulder. “You know? That's what everybody says, and like, it's true. But it's okay if you're not fine right now.”

“I just talked to my mom,” Clayton finally says, his voice barely a whisper. “They didn't know. My parents, like…” He looks up at Dylan and smiles sadly. “I mean, nobody did. But everybody knows now, I guess, right? That's why you're here?”

“Yeah,” Dylan says, because he's not a fan of sugarcoating things that hurt. “I mean, probably not _everybody_? But like, a lot of people.”

“A lot of people who matter,” Clayton says. 

“Yeah,” Dylan says again. “And a lot who don't.”

“It was just a stupid college party,” Clayton says. He's still flipping his phone over in his hand. “I was only there for one semester.”

“He's tall,” Dylan says softly, trying to lighten the mood. “If that's your type, I'm kinda offended you haven't made any moves on me.”

Clayton huffs out a quick laugh before he pinches the bridge of his nose between his eyes, and he shakes his head. “Sorry,” he whispers, “I wasn't trying to hide it, I just wasn't—I'm sorry.”

Dylan can't take it anymore, and he grabs Clayton and pulls him into a hug. Clayton turns his face into Dylan’s neck and hugs him around the waist, and Dylan closes his eyes and rests his chin on top of Clayton's head. “Quit apologizing,” Dylan whispers. “I told you, it's okay if you're not okay right now.”

“I just wasn't ready,” Clayton whispers back, and Dylan hugs him tighter and never wants to let go.

. . : : . .

Clayton falls asleep after a while but Dylan can't get his mind to calm down, so he goes to the living room and collapses onto the couch. He lays on his back for a long time, staring at the ceiling, and he's not sure how long he's been there when he hears the front door open.

“Oh,” Christian says from the doorway. “You're still here?”

“Sorry,” Dylan sits up and looks over the back of the couch. “Where were you?”

Christian shrugs off his jacket. “Went to the gym,” he says. “Needed to punch the shit out of some bags, I…” He trails off, but Dylan knows what he means. “How's he doing?”

Dylan shrugs. “I dunno,” he says. 

Christian watches him for a long time. “His bed’s plenty big enough for two people,” he says, finally. “Especially when one of them’s Kells. Don't break your back on the fucking couch.”

“How do you know that,” Dylan says.

“You think you're the only guy who wants a good cuddle every once in a while?” Christian says, and Dylan smiles. 

Dylan waits for Christian to go to his room before he gets up, walking back down the hall to Clayton’s room. He waits outside for a second, but when he walks in, Clayton’s on his back with his hands laced together on his stomach, the room lit dimly by the lamp on his bedside table. “I didn't know you were awake,” Dylan says. 

Clayton doesn't say anything. 

Dylan walks over and crawls into bed, laying down on his back next to Clayton. They lay there in silence for what feels like forever, and then Clayton looks over at Dylan and says, “Don't you have any big secrets you could tell me?”

“What, to even the playing field or something?”

“Yeah, or something,” Clayton says softly. 

Dylan frowns at the ceiling. “I know it sounds like, stupid as hell, but you're not alone,” he says finally, and he looks over. “The gay thing. Or, I mean, whatever. Whatever it is for you, if that's not…I shouldn't just assume, sorry. Sorry.” He looks back up at the ceiling, scrunching up his nose.

Clayton rolls into his side and folds an arm under his head. Dylan doesn't look over but he can feel Clayton watching him. “You too?”

Dylan nods. “Yeah.” He sighs. “I didn't know you were...I would've...I don't know.” He sighs again. “I didn't know you were struggling.”

“You could've told me anyway,” Clayton says softly. 

“I know, but like.” Dylan finally looks over at him. “I don't know. I haven't really told people here yet. Never really feel like the right time.”

“How'd your folks take it?” Clayton’s voice is small, and part of Dylan wants to know how Clayton’s folks took it, but he doesn't want to ask.

Dylan turns onto his side facing Clayton. “My parents were super cool about it,” he says softly. “My brothers were...I mean, they're fucking amazing. I don't know. It wasn't really a big _thing_ , but I guess I wear my heart on my sleeve.” He makes a face. “Whatever _that_ means.”

Clayton laughs, and it almost reaches his eyes. “Yeah, you do,” he says softly. “Not a bad thing.”

“I think they were just waiting on me to be ready,” Dylan says. “And when I was, they were ready.” He bites his lip, and his heart aches when Clayton’s smile fades. “But I know it wasn't like that for you, I just…” 

“What about your friends? Does anybody else know?” 

“Yeah, some,” Dylan says. He tucks his hand under his side to keep himself from reaching over and touching Clayton. “Alex, Andre. Davo. Not a ton of people.”

“Close circle,” Clayton says softly. 

“Close circle,” Dylan nods. “Nobody here.”

“Maybe I'll just…” Clayton frowns. “I could try and say like, it's not me, I guess?”

“Don't build a wall out of lies, Kells,” Dylan says softly. “And I mean, the pictures...they could be worse.”

“It’s not even about the pictures,” Clayton says. “Like, Fish is pissed about whoever leaked them, but I don’t care about the stupid pictures. I just wanted to keep this private. Tell people when I was ready.”

“I think they’d be cool,” Dylan says. “The guys, I mean.”

Clayton nods slowly. “I think so,” he says. “My phone’s full of supportive messages right now, but I don't know if they're just trying to like...I mean, they seem like they'd be cool.” He looks at Dylan. “You could probably tell them, too. If you wanted to, I mean.”

“Maybe,” Dylan says. He's never really thought much about it before, focusing everything he has on making it to the game and staying there, but he thinks now he might be there. He wonders if his focus could start to change. “Hey, I could pretend to be your boyfriend. We could do it together.”

Clayton laughs for real, covering his eyes with his hand. “No,” he says, but Dylan thinks he sounds doubtful. “No, I'm not dragging you out with me.”

“I don't mind,” Dylan says, and he's surprised to find that he believes it. “I'm serious, you don't want to be my fake boyfriend?”

Clayton moves his hand away from his eyes. “I can't ask you to do that.”

“I'm offering,” Dylan says softly. Clayton is worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, and Dylan reaches over and presses a thumb to Clayton’s chin. “Cut it out, you're gonna make yourself bleed,” he whispers. “That's just a preview of what an attentive boyfriend I can be, by the way. I'm great at cuddling, I pay for dinner. And I'm tall, which seems to be your type anyway, but I'm a really great big spoon.”

Clayton laughs and reaches over, hooking his arm around Dylan’s neck and pulling him into a hug, and Dylan closes his eyes and hugs him back.

“I hate this,” Clayton whispers. 

“I know,” Dylan whispers back. “Let’s do this together.”

There's a long pause, and then Clayton sighs and whispers, “Okay.”

. . : : . .

Dylan stays overnight with Clayton, and they take Dylan’s car to practice in the morning. Dylan doesn't see any issue with it until they come up on a car accident on the highway, which has traffic stopped in both directions.

This means Dylan is late getting to practice, and it means Clayton is also late getting to practice. 

“Everybody's already here,” Clayton says, scanning the cars as Dylan pulls into a spot in the garage.

“So what?” Dylan grabs his keys and gets out. “We’re not _late_ late.”

“No,” Clayton gets out and gets his bag from the backseat. “But everybody's here, and _we’re_ late. Together.” He glances at Dylan. “And you were wearing that after the game last night.”

“Okay, _nobody_ is going to notice that,” Dylan says. He opens the door and waits for Clayton to go inside. 

“Fish knew you stayed over,” Clayton adds. The more he says, the more anxious Dylan feels. “They're all puzzle pieces, they'll figure it out.”

“There's nothing to figure out, we’re just gonna tell them we’re faking it,” Dylan says. He stops when they get to the door to the locker room, and he looks at Clayton. “Right? I mean, that's the plan. Right?”

Clayton shakes his head. “Yeah, it is, but like,” he says, and then he shakes his head. “Is it? Why are we telling them we’re faking it?”

“In case somebody asks them,” Dylan says slowly, but even as he’s saying it, he can’t imagine a scenario where that would happen.

“Right,” Clayton nods, looking at the door. “Right.”

“We don't have to do this if you don't want to do this,” Dylan says. “I’m serious.”

Clayton shakes his head. “No. Let’s go, come on.” He pulls open the door and Dylan follows him inside. 

Everyone goes quiet when they walk in, and Dylan glances around the room as he walks over to his stall. “Morning, boys,” he says as he drops his bag and sits down. 

Clayton glances at him as he sits down at his own stall across the room.

“Morning,” Christian says pointedly. “Didn't see you when I left, wasn't sure you guys were gonna make it.”

Lawson looks up from his skates next to Christian, and on Dylan’s other side, Brendan leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

“How's it going, Kells?” Derek keeps glancing back and forth between Clayton and Dylan, and Dylan swallows hard and sits down. 

“I'm okay.” Clayton takes his time untying his sneakers. “Kind of a rough night, but.” He pauses and looks at Dylan, lightning quick, and Dylan feels like a spotlight snaps on over his head. “I'm okay.”

“Well, everybody here's got your back,” Oliver says, glancing at Dylan before looking back over to Clayton. He leans forward. “There’s nothing for you to worry about,” he adds, and he looks at Dylan again. “Or for...anyone to worry about.”

Clayton smiles stiffly, and Dylan focuses on his pads but feels like his face is on fire. “Thank you,” he hears Clayton say, “that really means a lot.”

Dylan's heartbeat starts to slow down, but then Christian says quietly, “What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing,” Dylan says, and he looks up at Christian. Next to him, Lawson is leaning forward, watching them. “What?”

“When I went to bed, you were on the couch,” Christian whispers. “And now you're both showing up late to practice—”

“We got a problem over here, boys?” Oliver stands up, raising an eyebrow in their direction. Dylan swallows hard and looks at Oliver.

“No problem over here,” Christian says, but he doesn't look away from Dylan. 

“Listen,” Dylan starts. “I can explain—”

“Dylan’s going to pretend to be my boyfriend for a while,” Clayton announces.

Across the room, Jakob turns around so fast that he knocks a pile of sticks to the floor. With how quiet the room gets, Dylan figures this is like the hockey equivalent of hearing a pin drop.

Clayton presses his lips together and nods quickly, glancing around at everyone. “So. If you guys could just...go along with it. If it comes up. That...would be cool. So.”

No one says anything, and Dylan wouldn't _mind_ if Chayka walked in right now to tell him he'd been traded and needed to leave immediately. 

“Uh.” Brendan clears his throat, finally breaking the silence, and he glances back and forth between them before he settles on Dylan. “Sorry, I hope I speak for everybody when I ask this, but. Why?”

Dylan is not prepared for this question, and he looks up at Clayton helplessly. Clayton locks eyes with him and says, “I mean, because...of the...the pictures?” 

“Wait,” Vinnie says, turning to Dylan. “Are _you_ the other guy in the pictures?”

“What?” Dylan shakes his head. “ _No_.”

There's another long stretch of silence and then Brendan says, “I still don't understand why.”

Dylan drops his head into his hands. This was a mistake. “Does it really _matter_ why?” he asks, but he still doesn't know how to answer the question.

“We thought it'd be easier,” Clayton says quickly. “I mean.”

“Thought _what_ would be easier?” Christian asks. 

Dylan groans and looks up at the ceiling. “I like dudes too,” he says. “Okay? That's _all_ it is, so we thought if Kells has to do this, then it might be easier if we just did this at the same time, but now I feel like maybe we were wrong.”

“Dylan's just helping me out,” Clayton adds, and Dylan looks at him again. “And I'm helping him out.”

The room is silent, and then Jason says, “No pun intended.”

Derek coughs, but it sounds like a laugh, and then he reaches over and knocks his knuckles with Jason and yeah, it was definitely a laugh. “Oh my god, I'm sorry,” Derek says, shaking his head and pursing his lips, focusing his eyes on the ceiling. “That was just, uh, that was funny. I'm sorry, I know this is a serious conversation, I'm so sorry.”

“Let’s just pause for a moment and appreciate the teamwork that's going on here,” Jason says, standing up and gesturing to them. “This is _beautiful_.” He claps a few times, and Dylan closes his eyes and breathes in deep through his nose before opening them again. “I mean, I've got your back. I'll talk you up to the media, for sure.” He looks around the room, pointing at a few of the guys. “Boys? Everybody in?”

“No, you don't—only if they ask,” Dylan says weakly as everybody nods. “You don't have to do _anything_ unless _they_ ask.”

“Okay, well, if they _ask_ ,” Jason says. “I'm in. You're a cute couple, love is grand.” He sits back down, grinning.

“We’re not...we’re not a real couple,” Dylan says helplessly, and Clayton sighs and shakes his head.

“No, but you’re going to tell people you are,” Jason says. “Right?”

Dylan looks at Clayton. “I mean,” Clayton says, “not...exactly?”

The room goes silent again, and this time, it feels endless. 

“I’m just going to say I have a boyfriend, if...if anybody asks,” Clayton says slowly. His eyes are locked on Dylan’s. “The part where it’s Dylan is just...implied.”

“Did you think this plan through before you decided to do it?” Niklas asks gently. 

“Does it seem to you like we thought this plan through?” Clayton asks wearily.

“No,” Niklas says, and Dylan appreciates his honesty. “I think we can all agree that this plan seems…”

“Dumb,” Dylan says, “it seems pretty dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Lawson says. “Weird, maybe. Like, why bother making this arrangement if you’re not telling anybody _who_ your boyfriend is?” There’s a murmur of agreement around the room as Lawson shrugs.

“I think it’s whimsical,” Jordan says, smiling a little as he tapes up his stick.

“Not whimsical,” Derek says, “isn’t that like, fantasy?”

“Nope,” Jordan says. “Determined by chance or impulse rather than by necessity or reason.” This isn’t the first time he’s recited a definition out of nowhere; Dylan honestly can’t be sure Jordan hasn't memorized a dictionary. “You know, like, on a whim.”

“I would have chosen a word like impulsive,” Vinnie says thoughtfully. 

“This isn't a vocab lesson,” Clayton says. 

“I mean, it's not _dumb_ ,” Vinnie says. “Not weird. _Maybe_ whimsical. But, I don’t know, I think it's kinda sweet.”

“Yeah?” Dylan sits up a little straighter. 

“Yeah,” Vinnie shrugs. “I can respect it, I’d step up for somebody I was interested in, too.”

“Oh, no,” Dylan shakes his head, and his face feels suddenly hot, “oh, no. No. This isn’t, it's not like that, no.”

“We’re just _friends_ ,” Clayton says, blushing, “who happen to both like dudes, we’re just pretending...to…” He trails off, but it doesn't seem to matter what he was going to say.

“Hey, it’s _cool_ ,” Vinnie says, holding up a hand. “Nobody's judging.”

“We’re _just_ asking you to go along with it, _if_ anybody brings it up,” Clayton says, and Dylan thinks he sounds a little desperate. “Please confirm that you heard me say _if_.”

There’s another murmur of agreement around the room. 

“We aren't _actually_ together, it's just friends helping friends. This doesn't have to be a _thing_.” Clayton looks at Dylan. “I don’t know why we’re doing this, it seemed foolproof last night.”

“Okay,” Oliver says, clapping twice as he stands up. “We’ve all got your back, and we’ll back you up _if_ it comes up, and we all need to remember to keep our focus on the bigger picture here. Just keep your focus on the game, and we’ll have your back.” 

Clayton opens his mouth to say something else, but Dylan grabs his stick and stands up. “Okay,” he says quickly. “Good talk, yes, okay. Understood. Thank you.” 

On the ice, Dylan manages to get a second alone with Clayton next to the boards while the penalty kill unit is running through some drills. “I don't know how to answer the _why_ question?” he whispers. “Why the _fuck_ are we doing this?”

“This was _your_ idea!” Clayton whispers back. “I don't know why!”

“We never should've told them anything,” Dylan whispers. “They think we’re fucking crazy now.”

Clayton looks up at Dylan. “You have an extra word in there, they think we’re _fucking_ now and trying to cover it up.”

“They _don't_ think _that_ ,” Dylan whispers.

“Are you _sure_?” Clayton whispers. “Because—we were late today, together, and Fish knows you slept in my bed—”

“I'm _sure_ ,” Dylan hisses. He's not sure. 

“Gentlemen!” Tocchet’s voice is _loud_ , when he shouts at them, and Clayton jumps. “If it's too much to ask for your undivided attention, you can take that discussion off the ice.”

“Nope, we’re good!” Dylan calls back, and he shoots Clayton a look. “This is _not_ resolved,” he says in a low voice, and he skates over to start his drills.

. . : : . .

Dylan’s not sure what to expect the next time he gets on FaceTime with Connor and Alex.

“No Andre?” Dylan says when the call connects. 

“He's got a game tonight,” Connor says. Dylan feels a little like Connor keeps a color-coded calendar with everybody's schedule in it. “Just the three of us.”

“We can make it if we try,” Alex sings, off-key, and Connor laughs. “How're _things_ , Stromer?”

“Things are good,” Dylan says. “You saw I’m on a point streak, right? Just want to make sure.”

“Five multi-point games,” Connor says, and Dylan wonders if Connor would keep track of that in his calendar, too. “I'm not gonna say I told you so, but only because we both fucking told you so.”

“I meant more like, how are things _off_ the ice,” Alex says. “But while we're talking about this, I’d like to point out that you've almost got as many points as Davo, which is pretty fucking sick.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Connor says, but he's laughing. “I'm trying to hold back, I want you to pass me at least once. Long enough for me to get a screenshot or something.”

Dylan laughs. “Things are okay off the ice,” he says, and he presses his thumb against the edge of the table until his fingernail turns white. 

“I meant with Keller,” Alex adds, but the laughter is gone from his voice. 

“He's okay,” Dylan says. “I went over the other night, just to check in.” He glances up at the screen. “Told him, you know, he's not the only one.”

“No way,” Alex says, and he smiles. “Good for you, that's really cool.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dylan shrugs. “I'm not sure if it helped, I don't know.”

“I'm sure it did,” Connor says. 

“Everybody's been really cool,” Dylan says. “Like, he's really lucky.”

“How’d the guys in the room take it?” Connor asks.

Dylan sighs. “Well,” he says, “I kinda wanted to talk to you guys about that.”

Alex groans. “ _Please_ don’t tell me they were shitty,” he says. 

“Oh my god, I was just gonna say that,” Connor says, laughing a little.

“No, no, no,” Dylan shakes his head. “They’ve been really cool, I meant them when I said everybody.” He has absolutely no idea how to continue, and he frowns at the table. “We told them I'm gonna pretend to be his boyfriend,” he finally says, and it might be the stupidest sentence he’s ever heard, and it’s definitely the stupidest sentence he’s ever said.

“Oh,” Connor says, his voice carefully neutral, and Alex starts laughing and doesn’t stop. “You did?”

Dylan exhales and leans back in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Brinksy, you have _got_ to shut the fuck up,” he says. “I _know_ how this sounds, I need you to shut up.”

“So, you told everybody, not just him?” Connor asks, raising his voice over Alex’s laughter.

“Yes,” Dylan says, and he pulls his hands away from his eyes. Alex has stopped laughing now, but he’s smiling like he’s just gone downstairs on Christmas morning.

“That’s really cool,” Connor says gently, “but, like...why? What’s the point of pretending?”

“Okay, look, I suggested it because I _thought_ it would be easier for him,” Dylan leans forward on his elbows. “But, like, everybody wants to know _why_. And he never planned to tell anybody it was me anyway, he was just gonna say he had a boyfriend.”

“Okay, but I think why is a reasonable question to ask,” Alex says. “What’s the point of this weird backstory? He doesn’t _have_ to have a boyfriend.”

“Like, I don’t _know_ ,” Dylan says. “It _seemed_ like it made sense until everybody else got involved.”

“This is such a creative way to make a _friend_ feel better,” Alex says. 

“I wasn’t thinking,” Dylan says, sighing. “But now I think they think we’re like, sleeping together or something.”

“It’s kinda sweet,” Connor says, shrugging. “I mean, I guess it’s kinda embarrassing, right? But it’s not like you’re doing it with some hidden agenda or something, you know?” 

“I mean, okay, look,” Alex says, “you can say that, but are we just gonna keep pretending this isn’t a thing?” He points at the camera. “You _like_ him.”

“Alex,” Connor warns. 

Dylan doesn’t have the energy to deny it anymore. “Fine, yes,” he says with a sigh. “I _like_ him.”

Connor smiles. “I _knew_ you did,” he says. “That’s so nice!”

“ _Nice_.” Dylan wrinkles his nose. “ _Is_ it, though? It feels selfish.”

“It's not like you're taking advantage of him, though. You’re not letting that get in the way of helping him out. Probably makes him feel like somebody’s really got his back, that’s how I think I’d feel if it was me.” Alex laces his hands together on the table and resting his chin on his knuckles. “You know what, I’m sold. I think it’s nice, too.”

“You guys are just saying that because you’re my friends,” Dylan says, “this is stupid. It’s stupid, isn't anything else going on that we could talk about?”

“You didn’t want _anybody_ to know last year,” Connor says. “You didn’t want anybody to know, and I think if Kells had these pictures leak last year, you wouldn’t have done this.” Connor watches him for a long time, and he leans forward and says, softer, “But now you feel like you belong somewhere, and you feel like _you_ , and I think it’s a _good_ thing.”

“Character growth,” Alex says. “That’s what they call it in the movies.”

Dylan chews at his thumbnail. “You guys need a hobby,” he says softly. “Analyzing my love life is embarrassing.”

“Nobody calls a fake relationship their love life, dipshit,” Alex says, and Dylan can’t help but laugh.

. . : : . .

Dylan is packing for his trip home for Christmas when Lawson calls him out.

“You know you guys aren't really fake dating, right,” Lawson calls from across the hall.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Dylan calls back. He tosses a shirt into a pile of clothes that'll eventually go into his bag. 

“Where is it you're going for bye week again?” Dylan looks up to see Jakob in the doorway, carrying a sweatshirt and frowning at him like he's thinking too hard. “Sorry, I can't remember.”

Dylan glares at him. “You can't remember, sure.”

“C’mon, Stromer, just remind me?” When Jakob smiles, his eyes crinkle at the corners and he looks too nice. 

“Palm Springs,” Lawson says, stepping into the hallway while he’s folding a t-shirt. “He's going to Palm Springs. After he goes to San Jose with Kells, don't forget that part.”

“Riiight,” Jakob snaps his fingers and points to Dylan. “Right, right.” He holds up a sweatshirt. “This was in the dryer, is this yours?” 

There's a 9 printed on the chest. Dylan grabs it from him, scowling. “I borrowed it,” he says. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Where’s _your_ sweatshirt?” Jakob asks. 

Dylan doesn't look at him. “I don't have it right now.” 

Lawson squints at Dylan. “Hey,” he says, swatting Jakob in the shoulder with the backs of his fingers and then leaving his hand there, “where is it that Kells is going, remind me?”

“Hey, I’d like to remind you both to fuck off,” Dylan says, smiling sweetly. 

“Palm Springs,” Jakob says like Dylan hadn't even said anything at all. “Also Palm Springs.”

“Also Palm Springs!” Lawson says. “That’s interesting.”

“Isn't it?” Jakob says. 

Dylan hears the front door open. “You guys are a regular fucking stand-up act,” he says. “You should go on the road together. Forever.”

“When are you gonna do something about this, bro?” Lawson asks. “I mean, it's kinda ridiculous.”

“What's ridiculous about it?” Dylan asks. 

“Mostly the pining,” Jakob says. “The pining. Like, you know that emoji with the hearts over its eyes? That's literally you when you look at him, and him when he looks at you.”

“He doesn't look at me that way,” Dylan says, but his head is spinning.

“Uh, he does, and it's gross,” Lawson nods. “I mean, gross in a good way. Pay attention to it next time.”

“I’d really love it if we stopped talking about this,” Dylan says. His face feels like it's on fire.

Jakob steps back from the doorway, and Lawson looks over and laughs as Clayton ducks into Dylan’s room. He's wearing Dylan’s sweatshirt, the number 20 on his chest and sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Jakob grins smugly at Dylan over Clayton’s head. 

“How’d you get in here?” Lawson asks, gently shoving at the back of Clayton’s shoulder.

Clayton holds up a keyring and jingles a key. “Didn't need it though, your door was unlocked,” he says. “That’s super unsafe.”

“Who gave you a _key_?” Lawson asks. 

Clayton looks at Dylan.

“I told you I was giving him a key for emergencies like two months ago,” Dylan says, and then he shoots Clayton a look and adds, “it was for _emergencies_ ,” as if that’s an acceptable excuse. 

Clayton holds his palms up. “I didn't use it for a non-emergency, I told you. It was unlocked.” The keychain dangles from where it's hooked on his finger, a hard plastic heart that says _I left my heart in Mississauga_. 

Jakob watches him for a long time, and Dylan watches as his eyes drop down to the keychain and then up at Dylan. Dylan silently hopes he doesn't notice the keychain, but then Jakob says, “Love the keychain, Kells.”

“It's Dylan’s,” Clayton says. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Lawson says, and he looks at Dylan. 

“Crouse and Chychrun think we’re too codependent,” Dylan announces.

“Uh, that's not what Crouse and Chychrun _said_ ,” Jakob says. 

“When did we start caring what Crouse and Chychrun think?” Clayton asks Dylan, squinting. “Is that new?” 

Dylan laughs, and then Clayton smiles at him, and Dylan’s stomach does a little flip.

“Crouse and Chychrun think you should just drop the facade and date each other for real,” Lawson says. 

“Bingo,” Jakob says.

Now Dylan's stomach does a _huge_ flip, but if it throws Clayton at all, he doesn't let on. “ _Literally_ no one asked for your opinion on this,” Dylan says. 

“I think Crouse and Chychrun are jealous,” Clayton says with a shrug. 

“Oh, right, Kells,” Jakob nods, very serious. “ _That's_ it.”

“And that Crouse and Chychrun should stop talking about themselves in the third person, because it makes them sound like cavemen.” Clayton picks up one of the shirts in the pile on Dylan’s bed and makes a face. “You should bring the green one instead, this color kinda washes you out.”

Lawson stares at them. 

“Oh my god,” Jakob mutters.

“Excuse you.” Dylan takes the shirt from Clayton. “The green one, really?”

“Mmhmm,” Clayton nods. “I mean, it’s up to you. It doesn't matter, whatever you want to do.”

“No, I'll bring the green one,” Dylan says, and he looks up at Clayton and smiles. “Thanks, babe.”

Jakob groans as he turns and walks out of the room. “You're both fucking ridiculous.” 

“Hey, come on, don't walk away angry!” Clayton says, and he grins at Dylan and winks. 

Dylan feels dizzy, but he manages to smile back.

“Just date each other for real!” Jakob yells back down the hallway, and Lawson laughs as Jakob slams his door.

. . : : . .

Clayton drives him to the airport the next morning in Dylan’s car and pulls up to the arrival doors. “I'll see you in a few days,” Clayton says, pushing his sunglasses up on his head. “Try not to miss me too much, I know it's tough.”

“You have no idea,” Dylan says. He gets out of the car and grabs his bag from the backseat, and Clayton twists around in his seat to watch him. 

“Merry Christmas, Stromer,” Clayton says. “Love you.”

Dylan glances up at him and smiles. “You gotta stop saying that,” he says, “you're gonna make me fall for you.”

Clayton grins and puts his sunglasses back on. “That's the next phase of this plan, hotshot,” he says, and Dylan laughs. 

“Merry Christmas, Kells,” Dylan says. “Love you, too.”

. . : : . .

The night before the All-Star break, they're warming up at home when Clayton gets pulled over to do a pregame interview with Jody. Dylan is passing pucks to Lawson from center ice and tries not to watch, and then when the interview ends Clayton skates past him and smiles.

When Dylan goes to pass the next puck, he misses it completely. 

Dylan manages to get his focus back by the end of the anthem, and he gets two assists on Clayton's two goals before the first five minutes of the game. They end up winning in regulation, and Clayton stays on the ice to talk to Todd when they name him first star. 

Dylan is pulling his jersey off when Clayton walks in the room and right over to him. “Hey,” Clayton says as Dylan looks up at him. “I've gotta talk to you.”

“Hey,” Dylan says. “What?”

“I told Jody I had a boyfriend,” Clayton says in a rush. “I didn't want to say anything to you before the game, I—I thought you should know.”

“Oh,” Dylan says, and his head is spinning. Clayton hasn't mentioned that to the media up until now, and Dylan’s heart starts racing. “I…did you say who?”

“ _No_ ,” Clayton says. “I mean. No.”

Dylan watches him. 

“She didn't ask who, but then Todd asked about it just now,” Clayton says, making a face. “and I was like, oh, he’s a hockey guy too, but we keep things private, and he didn’t really ask more than that.” He bites his lip. “I mean what if people figure it out?”

“That was the plan, Kells,” Dylan says, even though it’s a thousand times more terrifying when it could be reality. He’s not even sure that was the plan to begin with.

“If you want,” Lawson says, “I’ll be your fake boyfriend to distract the press from your real fake boyfriend. Throw ‘em off the trail a little.” 

Dylan laughs a little. “Shut up,” he says.

Jakob laughs. “I’ll be your backup,” he says. “In case you want to keep your fake fake boyfriend private, too.” He pushes his knuckles against Dylan’s shoulder. “Nobody’s gonna figure it out. If they do, no big deal. We've got your back, remember.”

By the time Dylan gets home, his head is pounding. The guys put together a list of who ranks where on the list of Clayton’s fake boyfriends, and Derek’s invited them to dinner with him and his wife on Saturday night. “I mean, you’re not a real couple, I know,” he says, almost apologetic, “but Steph really wants you to come.”

When he checks his phone, he's got two different YouTube links from Alex, along with another message that just says, _ok sorry dont tell davo i said this but this is cuuuute._

In the clip, Jody asks Clayton about the pictures in a roundabout way at the end of their interview, saying, “Before I let you go, it's been a rough few weeks for you,” and Clayton nods. “I know the fans are just wondering how you're doing.”

“Yeah, I mean, for sure,” Clayton says. “It’s been kinda tough, but I've got a really good support system, you know, good family and friends, boyfriend, the other guys in the room. Everybody’s been helping me keep my focus on the right things. But I'm good, I’m really lucky.”

Dylan opens the other link, and it’s Clayton with Todd after the game. It’s not what Dylan expects to see; Todd does ask if Clayton’s boyfriend watches the games and Clayton does say that his boyfriend’s a hockey guy and watches all the games, but then Todd moves on pretty quick to the game they’d just finished. “I’ve got to ask you about that third period,” he says, “about that last minute pass to you from Dylan Strome that won this game.”

Clayton nods while Todd is talking, and Dylan could be wrong but it looks like something in his eyes goes soft when Todd says Dylan’s name. “Yeah, I think, uh. We were running on fumes at that point, I was just, uh. Right place, right time, I guess. I didn’t think that was gonna go in.”

“Tell us a little about the chemistry that’s developed there,” Todd says.

Clayton laughs and shakes his head, and he exhales. “Uh, I don’t know how to, I mean. We’ve gotten super close, and Dylan’s…” Clayton trails off for a split second too long, and then he shakes his head. “Uh, Dylan’s amazing. He’s amazing, he’s really stepped up for us, and I don’t think he really realizes how much he’s done.” 

The video ends there, too quick, and Dylan watches it three more times before he goes back to his text with Alex. _serious q_ , he sends back to Alex, _has anything ever been a dumber idea than what we’re doing? Pls be honest._

The doorbell rings. 

_lol i mean i don't endorse lying to the press but tbh i kinda think it's sweet,_ Alex writes back. _kinda wish u were rly his bf, he makes u look good. 😜_

 _maybe ill just tell him i like him,_ Dylan types out, but he deletes it as he opens the door. When he looks up, Clayton is standing there. “Oh,” Dylan says, surprised. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Clayton says. His car is in the driveway, still running, and he’s biting at his bottom lip. 

“Aren’t you,” Dylan glances at Clayton’s car. “Don't you have a flight soon?”

“I do, I just.” Clayton is shifting his weight from one foot to another, and it’s making Dylan nervous. “I wanted to say thanks,” Clayton says finally. “Like. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about everything you’ve done for, for me, and I wish…”

Dylan is almost afraid to breathe. “You wish what?” he finally asks when Clayton doesn’t say anything.

Clayton watches him and then he shakes his head, quick. “This probably isn’t the time to do this,” he says, and he takes a step back.

Dylan feels like he’s been pushed off a bridge, and he reaches out and catches Clayton by the wrist. “To do _what_?” 

Clayton looks down at Dylan’s hand, and he shakes his head again but doesn’t pull his hand away. “You’re still coming this weekend, right?” When Clayton looks back up at Dylan, his eyes are bright. 

“Tomorrow, yeah,” Dylan says softly, nodding. He wishes he’d made plans to go with Clayton instead. “Can we make time this weekend?” 

“We’ll make time this weekend,” Clayton says. “I, um. Sorry to stop by like this, I...I’ve gotta go, my flight…”

Dylan nods and lets go of Clayton’s wrist. “Yeah, yeah, don’t—don’t miss your flight.” He clears his throat. “I’ll find you tomorrow afternoon, if you’ve got time? Tomorrow night, for sure.”

Clayton nods, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. He watches Dylan without saying anything and then he closes the gap between them and hugs Dylan tight. “I love you,” he says softly, and before Dylan can process what he’s saying, Clayton is stepping back, looking down at his feet.

“I love you, too,” Dylan says softly, and he hopes it doesn't sound as heavy as it feels.

“Let me know when you get there tomorrow,” Clayton says. “Okay?”

Dylan nods. “I will.”

Clayton nods, too. “Okay.” He takes a step back. “See you tomorrow.”

“Have a safe flight,” Dylan calls after Clayton as he goes down the steps. “Don't get too famous before I get there, leave yourself a note with my name or something so you don’t forget me.”

Clayton laughs as he opens his car door. “What, like to jog my own memory or something?” He stands there, at his open car door, squinting up at Dylan. The sun is going down and he looks like an angel, bathed in golden light like he’s in the middle of a dream. “I’m not gonna forget you.”

“I’m just saying,” Dylan shrugs.

Clayton shakes his head. “I’m not gonna forget you,” he says again, and he smiles a little as he gets in the car. He waves to Dylan before he backs out of the driveway, and Dylan watches him drive away until he can’t see Clayton’s taillights anymore.

. . : : . .

When Dylan gets to San Jose, Clayton is in the middle of media day, so Dylan texts Connor. _sorry to bug a superstar but u free to hang?_

Connor writes back immediately. _for u, always_. He sends his room number, and Dylan goes upstairs. 

Connor opens the door in a half-buttoned dress shirt and boxer briefs. “Gross,” Dylan says as he follows Connor into the room, and Connor laughs. “What if that was somebody else at the door?”

“Then they would've gotten a good show, I guess.” Connor grins at him. “Where's your better half?”

Dylan flips him off as he sits down on the bed. “Fuck off,” he says. “He's still doing interviews and stuff.”

Connor stands in the bathroom doorway as he takes his dress shirt off and pulls a t-shirt on, and Dylan knows he has something to say, so he pretends to look around the room to avoid having to talk about it. “He’s probably done soon, if that’s where he’s been,” Connor finally says. “You're really not going to see him?” 

“I mean, I see him every day.” Dylan looks at him, and Connor squints back. “It's not like I won't see him this weekend, I’ll find him later. I never get to see you anymore.”

“Can I ask you something, and you'll just be straight with me?”

Dylan makes a face and leans back on his hands. “I can fully guarantee that I won't be straight with you, but you can still ask,” he says, and it makes Connor laugh so Dylan smiles, too. “If you're gonna ask about Keller…”

“No, I'm just,” Connor sighs. “I mean, I _am_.”

“Haven't we talked about this enough?” Dylan chews at the inside of his bottom lip. 

“Why don't you just _tell_ him, Dyls,” Connor says softly, and he walks over and sits down on the bed across from Dylan.

“You need to put pants on if we're gonna have a serious conversation about this,” Dylan says, and he hopes his voice isn't shaking. 

Connor rolls his eyes. “Dylan.”

“Connor. I'm serious.” Dylan gestures in his direction. “This is distracting.”

Connor sighs, but he gets up and goes back to the bathroom. “You're avoiding the question,” he calls out as he pulls a pair of sweatpants on. “I'm just gonna ask you again in ten seconds.”

“Yeah, so ask me again in ten seconds,” Dylan says. He lays down on his back and stares at the ceiling, and his heart is beating so loud that he swears he can hear it in the room.

Connor comes back and sits down next to him on the bed, and then Connor lays down, too. “You don't have to say it,” Dylan says softly. 

“You need to tell him how you feel,” Connor says, just as softly. 

“I thought you had a question.” Dylan's being difficult. He knows that. 

“Dylan,” Connor says, and when Dylan looks at him, Connor’s eyes are sad. 

“It's fucking _terrifying_ ,” he says, and he doesn't mean to be this honest but that's how it comes out. He closes his eyes tight. “Like. What if—”

“No,” Connor shakes his head. “No. I don't want to hear that from you anymore, no.”

“If we got together,” Dylan says, like Connor hadn't said anything, “and it didn't work out…” He sighs. “It seems risky, that's all.”

“He's been pretending to be your boyfriend for weeks for no reason,” Connor says softly. “You're stupid if you think you're not good enough.”

Dylan watches the ceiling fan for a while. “He came by last night before he left for the airport,” he finally says. “He seemed like he had something to say, but like, we didn't really have time to get into it, I just…” He sighs. “I don't know, Davo, he said he loved me.”

“You need to make time to get into it this weekend,” Connor says. “Stop letting stupid things hold you back. You're too good for that. You deserve better than that, and I mean. Seems like Keller really likes you, for some reason.”

Dylan looks over at him, and Connor smiles. “Why are you like this,” Dylan whispers, because he can't trust himself to speak louder without crying. 

“What, the best fucking person on earth?” Connor whispers back. 

“Somebody who believes in me, like, three hundred percent,” Dylan whispers. 

Connor watches him for a long time before he shrugs. “Dunno,” he says. “Just comes natural, I guess.”

. . : : . .

Dylan is mindlessly scrolling through Instagram in Connor’s hotel room when Connor gets back with Leon and Clayton. The skills competition ended hours ago, but Connor had texted Dylan to say they were taking Clayton out to try and loosen him up.

In the meantime, Jakob’s texted him a bunch of tweets about the red carpet where everybody’s reporting that Clayton broke up with his mysterious hockey boyfriend. Dylan's been trying not to think about it. 

Dylan sits up when the door opens, and Connor walks in first with Leon and Clayton behind him. He smiles brightly at Dylan. “Hey, bud,” he says. “Sorry, didn't mean to stay out so long.”

“No, it's cool, cut it out,” Dylan says. “How was it?”

“It was fun, yeah,” Connor loosens his tie and takes it off, rolling it up and setting it on the table next to the television. “You should've come out with us, it was really fun.”

“Nah, not really my scene,” Dylan says. “Glad you had a good time, though.” He smiles at Connor and glances towards the hallway as Leon walks in, his arm around Clayton's shoulders. Clayton is giggling about something with his arm around Leon’s waist, and Leon is laughing as he nods at Dylan. Clayton's cheeks are pink and he's not wearing a jacket anymore; his shirt is tight and crisp across his shoulders, his tie tied loose around his neck. His hair is a little messy and Dylan thinks about tangling his fingers in it, and he feels so suddenly overwhelmed that he’s short of breath.

Clayton glances up and sees Dylan and lights up, and Leon looks at Dylan and smiles. “Hey, _babe_!” Clayton says, grinning. The way he's looking at Dylan makes Dylan feel completely and utterly exposed, and Clayton smiles so big that he gets dimples in his cheeks. 

Dylan shakes it off as best he can and laughs a little. “Oh _no_ ,” he says. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I have been drinking,” Clayton laughs. “Not a lot, just a couple beers.”

“A _couple_ beers,” Dylan says, and he stands up and stretches his arms over his head. 

“Did you know he's a lightweight?” Leon asks casually. He doesn't seem bothered by it.

Clayton lets go of Leon's waist and hugs Dylan around the neck. He's warm and pliant and Dylan has to bend over a little to hug him back, cupping the back of Clayton's neck without really thinking about it. “Oh yeah, I know,” he says to Leon over Clayton’s shoulder. Behind Leon, Connor is smiling at Dylan with his arms crossed over his chest. “Sorry about that, it doesn't take much.”

Leon smiles at him. “Don't worry about it, he's very sweet.”

Clayton leans back and looks at Leon, beaming. His hand is on Dylan's bicep and Dylan is kind of terrified at how nice it feels, how familiar it is. “Thanks for taking me in tonight,” he says, “I had a really good time.” He looks back up at Dylan and smiles easily. “I missed you!”

Dylan laughs a little. “You weren't gone _that_ long.”

Clayton grabs Dylan by the chin with his other hand. “I know, but like, it was still a while,” he says, and then he pushes up on his toes and kisses Dylan on the mouth. It's quick and chaste, but Dylan kisses back without thinking, and when he pulls back the room is suddenly filled with white noise. 

Dylan feels Clayton go still under his palms and he opens his eyes slowly. Clayton is staring at him, eyes wide. 

“That's...a thing you just did,” Dylan says. 

Clayton nods slowly. “I don't, uh.”

Across the room, Connor clears his throat. “You know what, I think now’s a good time for us to _go_ ,” he says pointedly. When Dylan looks over, Connor is exchanging a look with Leon that Dylan thinks he's not supposed to see. 

“Yes,” Leon says. “That sounds like a great plan.”

“You don't have to go,” Dylan says quickly. “Now? Why? Where, uh, you don't have to go anywhere??”

“No, Davo’s right, I think we should find somewhere to go,” Leon says. 

Dylan locks eyes with Connor and Connor raises his eyebrows, and Dylan shakes his head imperceptibly. “I mean, take your time, whatever,” Connor says as he grabs the keys for his rental car. “I can stay with Leon tonight, if that's cool?” He looks at Leon.

“No, no,” Dylan says. “ _That's_ unnecessary, this is your room.”

“You really don't have to do that,” Clayton says, shaking his head. “We have a room, we—” He looks up at Dylan. “We can go to our room.”

“Ah,” Leon says. Dylan makes himself look away from Clayton and Leon is smiling kindly at him. “Forgive me for making assumptions, but it seems like maybe you have some things to discuss.”

Something in the way he says it makes something click in Dylan's head, and he feels like he's going to be sick from nerves.

Dylan looks at Clayton, and Clayton is still watching him, and Dylan swallows hard. Clayton's hand is on Dylan's hip now, warm and sure, and Dylan bites his lip.

“Yeah, I think...maybe we do,” he says, after a pause that could've been ten seconds long or ten years long, he's not quite sure. 

Dylan looks up at Connor, and Connor smiles. “Excellent,” he says softly, and he walks over and grabs a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt out of the dresser. “Take your time, just shoot me a text or something when you leave.”

Dylan watches them both as they leave, and when the door clicks shut, Clayton's hand is still on his hip. “You said we could make time to talk,” he says, still watching the door, and he looks at Clayton. 

“Yeah,” Clayton says. He looks up at Dylan. “Yes.”

“Did you break up with me?” Dylan says. “Chychrun said—”

“It was _fake_ ,” Clayton says softly. He cups Dylan’s cheek and frowns. “Somebody asked if my boyfriend was here with me, I didn’t...I didn’t know what to say. But like, I wanted it to be an amicable breakup.”

Dylan laughs. “ _Why_?”

Clayton laughs, too. “I don't know,” he says, “I just did.” He's rubbing his thumb over Dylan’s cheekbone, blinking slowly at him, and Dylan sighs and closes his eyes. He tries not to lean into Clayton’s touch, but he does anyway. “Let’s go somewhere else, can we get out of here and go somewhere else?”

“We have to anyway,” Dylan says, opening his eyes. “This is Connor’s room.”

Clayton rolls his eyes. “I know that, I meant, like.” He gestures vaguely. “ _Out_ of here. Let's go for a drive or something.”

“You're drunk,” Dylan says. 

“You have a rental car,” Clayton says. “And I’m not that drunk. Let’s go somewhere.” He watches Dylan and Dylan feels like Clayton is looking deep into his soul, like he's figuring things out about Dylan that Dylan doesn't even know about himself. “C’mon,” Clayton whispers, grinning. “Be reckless with me.”

“All-Star weekend’s a hell of a time to be reckless,” Dylan whispers back. 

Clayton puts his hand on the back of Dylan's neck and kisses him again. This time, it's soft and slow, and Clayton uses _way_ more tongue, but it's _nice_. It feels meant for _him_ , and Dylan puts his hands on Clayton's sides and kisses back. “We can do anything,” Clayton says softly when Dylan pulls back.

Dylan exhales, and he feels a little dizzy. “Okay,” he says. “Then let’s go somewhere.”

Somewhere ends up being an In-N-Out a couple blocks away, and Clayton leans forward to squint at the menu board when Dylan pulls up to the speaker. “Get like, a _thousand_ fries,” Clayton whispers. “Just say, I'll take all the fries you have.” He scrubs a hand through his hair when Dylan looks at him, smiling brightly. He’d changed his clothes before they left, and now he's wearing one of Dylan's t-shirts and a pair of Dylan’s sweatpants. Dylan’s not sure what he's wearing for shoes, but he's also not entirely sure Clayton isn't barefoot. 

“Oh my god,” Dylan mutters, smiling as he scans the menu for fries. “You're like, rock bottom right now.” 

Clayton just laughs. “Hey, let’s split a milkshake, how about that?”

“You don't just want your own milkshake?” Dylan looks over at him. 

Clayton rests his head against the headrest and smiles. “I mean, that's fine,” he says. “Just thought it'd be more romantic to split one.”

“You're really going all in, eh?” Dylan is blushing, and that's the moment the speaker comes on to take their order. He orders fries and milkshakes, and it gives him chills when he realizes he knows that Clayton wants vanilla without asking him. 

Clayton doesn't say anything else until they pull away from the window, and Dylan is waiting to turn out of the parking lot when Clayton says, “This is cool, right? You and me?”

Dylan watches as a car passes by, and then he shrugs and pulls onto the street. “It is,” he says, “but…” He pauses, and he hears Clayton inhale softly. “I mean, we need to talk about how you dumped me without telling me.”

Clayton laughs a little, and he presses his knuckles to the side of Dylan's thigh and then leaves them there. “It was amicable, I told you that.”

“I probably need time to recover, that's all I'm saying,” Dylan says. “You asked if it's cool, I'm telling you. I found out from Chychrun.”

“He probably thinks he's got a chance now,” Clayton says. “Trying to butter you up.”

“Yeah,” Dylan nods. “That makes sense.”

Clayton is quiet again, and Dylan chews at the inside of his lip as he pulls into the parking lot of the hotel. He's driving slowly, scanning for a parking spot, when Clayton says, “Okay, but, like. Seriously.”

Dylan finally finds a spot and parks, and he makes sure everything is turned off before he looks over at Clayton. Clayton is chewing at his thumbnail, watching Dylan like he's waiting for the other shoe to fall. “Seriously?” Dylan asks, and Clayton nods. “Isn't it obvious?”

Clayton shakes his head. “Maybe it is,” he shrugs. “I don't know. I don't know, I've never done this before.”

Dylan feels suddenly and impossibly fond, and he laughs a little. “No, I mean.” He watches Clayton for a minute and then he nods. “I'm super into you. Like, as a fake boyfriend, but also…”

“You wanna be my real one,” Clayton says, careful. 

“Like, yeah,” Dylan says. “Yes.”

Clayton smiles and scrunches up his nose. “Okay,” he says, and his voice is a little shaky but Dylan thinks it's probably a good thing. 

“If you wake up tomorrow and realize this was just some drunken mistake,” Dylan says, “like, I'll _get_ it.”

Clayton laughs and shakes his head, and he reaches across the console and puts his hand on the side of Dylan's neck. “I can't believe you're like this,” he says softly. Dylan wonders if Clayton can feel his pulse racing under his palm. 

Dylan takes a deep breath. “Can we just go inside?” he says softly.

Clayton rubs his thumb up and down in front of Dylan’s ear before he pulls his hand away, and he nods. “Mmhmm, yeah.”

Dylan carries the bag of fries upstairs while Clayton carries the milkshakes. In the room, Dylan digs through his suitcase for his pajamas. “You have a shirt I can wear? Since, you know, you took mine?” When he looks up, Clayton is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed with a mouthful of fries.

“Did I take yours?” he says, and he looks down at the shirt he has on and points to the number 20 on his chest. “This is yours?”

Dylan rolls his eyes. 

“You can wear mine,” Clayton says, smiling. “It's in the dresser.”

The shirt is a size smaller than what he wears, and the collar is too tight, but Dylan wears it anyway. He climbs into bed with Clayton and eats a couple fries. “Your milkshake’s gonna melt,” Dylan says. 

“I know, but it's gross to make out with somebody after drinking a milkshake,” Clayton says. 

“Weird thing to be an expert on, but okay.” Dylan grins at him. “You making out with somebody tonight? Sounds like fun.”

Clayton moves the fries to the bedside table and pushes Dylan onto his back, and Dylan tries to keep his cool when Clayton straddles his hips and pins his arms to the bed at his biceps. “Oh, hey,” Dylan says, his heart racing. He puts his hands on the sides of Clayton’s knees and tries not to struggle against his grip. “You must mean _me_.”

Clayton grins at him. “Oh, hey,” he says softly, “I mean you.” He licks his bottom lip and drops his eyes to Dylan’s mouth before back up to meet his eyes. “I don't want you to think this is like, because we’re drunk.”

“ _I’m_ not drunk,” Dylan says. “Are _you_ still drunk?”

Clayton shakes his head. “No.” He lets go of Dylan's arms and sits back a little. 

Dylan frowns. “Hey,” he says, and he pushes himself up on his elbows.

Clayton presses his lips together and doesn't say anything for a minute. “We’re doing this,” he says. “Like, for real.”

Dylan nods. “For real,” he says. “Yeah. Did I fuck you up, with the whole fake boyfriends thing?”

Clayton shakes his head. “Nah, no,” he says. He moves off of Dylan's waist and curls up next to him, and Dylan stares at the ceiling for a minute and takes deep breaths, in and out. 

When he feels like he has himself under control, he looks over at Clayton, and Clayton is on his side watching Dylan, his arm folded under his head. “What's up,” Dylan says softly, and he turns onto his side to face Clayton. Their knees knock together, Dylan reaches over and puts a hand on Clayton's side, and Clayton smiles.

“Just trying to take it slow,” Clayton says. He reaches up and curls his index finger under Dylan's chin, pressing his thumb to Dylan's bottom lip. “I'm super into you, too.”

Dylan purses his lips, kissing the pad of Clayton's thumb. “Thank god for that,” he says softly, and Clayton smiles so big that it creases the corners of his eyes.

. . : : . .

Dylan sleeps through his alarm the day of their first practice back from break. He's too late to get a run in before he leaves, and by the time he gets to the arena, everybody else is already there. “Fuck,” he mutters as he parks too close to Clayton's car. He grabs his bag and his keys and practically runs down the hallway to the room.

Clayton looks up from his stick when Dylan walks in, and Dylan raises his eyebrows and smiles back. “Hey, babe,” Dylan says without thinking, and Clayton grins.

Jakob rolls his eyes. “Didn’t you break up?” he says. 

“I definitely heard that you broke up,” Brendan adds. 

“Yeah, so,” Clayton says, and he looks up at Dylan. “About that.”

The room goes quiet, and Dylan looks down at his feet and shakes his head. They haven't really talked about it, how to tell the guys that they're not faking it this time, but then Clayton just says, “We broke up so we could...like, date. For real.”

The room stays quiet. 

Dylan holds his breath. 

“Nothing’s gonna...change,” Clayton says, looking around the room. “Uh. So. Yeah. That's all.” He nods quickly and sits down, his cheeks red, and doesn't look at anyone.

The room is still quiet for an impossibly long time, and then Jason clears his throat. “When, ah. When did this change?”

“At the All-Star Game,” Dylan says.

“Before the game,” Clayton says.

“Before the game,” Jason echoes, nodding. “Cool, cool.” He glances at Oliver. “Uh, like. When you say it was before the game, was it, like...a couple hours before the game?”

Dylan narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Probably the day before the game itself, right?” Vinnie asks. “Like, maybe in the early afternoon on Friday?”

“This is not important,” Niklas says, and when Dylan looks at him he's shooting Jason a look and mouthing, _later_.

“What was that?” Clayton asks. “What are you doing?”

“Just need a timestamp, Kells!” Jason says, too loud.

“They placed bets on when you'd figure your shit out,” Jordan says, leaning in the doorway of the treatment room with his arms crossed. 

There's a groan around the room, and Vinnie looks affronted. “What is the _matter_ with you,” he says. 

Jordan just shrugs. “There's no point in keeping it _secret_ , who cares?”

“Uh, _I_ care,” Dylan says. “You placed _bets_?” 

“Small, innocent bets,” Jakob says. “Don't worry about it.”

“Twenty bucks each,” Jordan adds. 

“Shut the fuck _up_ , Oesterle!” Vinnie hisses, but it makes Jordan laugh. 

“Oh my _god_.” Clayton sits down heavily. “You're all fucking insane.”

Oliver sighs and takes a small notebook out of his bag, and across the room, Dylan can see a bunch of twenty dollar bills sticking haphazardly out of it. “I just need an estimate,” he says, flipping it open.

Clayton leans over to look at it. Oliver turns it so he can see the page and while Clayton's reading it, Oliver looks up at Niklas and shakes his head. Clayton's eyes go wide and he looks up and points at Derek. “You picked ‘the day they said it was fake’, really?”

“Come on, man,” Derek says, laughing. 

Dylan wants to be offended, but looking back at it now, he gets it. 

Derek shakes his head. “The fact that we did this says way more about you guys than it does about us, but if you’re really upset, I mean, I think we’re all sorry about that? But the truth of it is, we've been rooting for you since day one.”

“Everybody still has your back, bud,” Christian says. “But, I mean, we've gotta have some fun with it.”

“They put a lot of thought into it,” Jordan says. “Kinda sweet.”

Dylan watches him. “ _They_ did?”

Jordan smiles bashfully. “Well, I mean, _we_ did,” he says, and he laughs a little. “C’mon, Stromer, just give us a rough estimate.”

“Eleven o'clock on Thursday night,” Clayton says. When Dylan looks at him, he's looking up at the ceiling and his cheeks are pink, but the corners of his mouth are turned up in a smile and he's rolling his eyes. “You guys are fucking embarrassing.”

“Closest was Fish,” Oliver announces, scanning the page in his notebook. “He said Thursday at five.”

Christian claps his hands together, grinning. 

“I'm challenging those results,” Jason says, tossing a ball of tape at Christian as Oliver hands over the cash. “Fish has inside intel, he lives with them!” 

“He lives with _Keller_ ,” Dylan says. He's lived with plenty of guys over the years, but the idea of living with Clayton makes him feel dizzy.

“Eh, whatever,” Demers says, waving a hand. “Same diff. It's all a matter of time, right?”

“Better watch it,” Jordan calls out as he heads back into the treatment room. “They'll be placing bets on that next.”

. . : : . .

On the ice, Clayton skates up to Dylan, breathless. “Don't worry about the whole living together thing,” he says.

“I wasn't worried about it,” Dylan says, watching Jakob fire shots at the net. He tightens his grip on his stick and looks at Clayton. “Should I be worried about it?”

“I just said not to,” Clayton says, and he laughs a little. “I mean, they're kinda dumb, you know?”

Dylan laughs, too. “Yeah,” he says. “Kinda, I guess.”

“Kinda great, too, though,” Clayton says softly.

“Yeah,” Dylan nods. “That, too.”


End file.
